CSC Benjamin Center Volunteer Spotlight: Meet Judy Silk

This month, we wanted to provide a "behind-the-scenes" look at one of the CSC Benjamin Center's extraordinary volunteers! Judy Silk has been volunteering and bringing positive energy to the community for more than a year. Quick fun fact to get us started: Judy started doing stand-up comedy at the age of 55! 

To learn more about ways to help, please visit our homepage. New Volunteer Orientation is held every 2nd Tuesday of the month from 3pm with the next one scheduled for January 13, 2015. For more information on volunteering opportunities, please visit the CSC Benjamin Center home page and fill out the volunteer form, here. 

Hi Judy! Tell us about yourself. Where are you from? What is your favorite YouTube video? What is your day job?

I am from Anaheim, CA. I grew up by Disneyland! We went at least once a year and I worked there in High School. I went to college in northern California, in Santa Cruz. 

My favorite YouTube video? It's mean, but also hilarious: 

I am a freelance writer and a performer at the Story Salons. I am a writer/storyteller. 

How long have you been volunteering with the CSC? 

For about a year. 

What made you want to get involved? 

I was in the caregiver's support group and after my husband passed, I began volunteering and helping give orientations. I have a real fervor about getting the word out about the Community. It's incredible what the offerings are and how incredibly helpful it is to people. When I was in the caregiver's group, I really came in kind of stumbling because I was so afraid of everything that was happening and it helped me ease my fears and cope with everything that I had to cope with. 

There were people who really understood what I was going through. Collectively, we all supported each other. 

As a volunteer and member, what resources have been particularly useful for you?

I got so much out of the support groups. Other highlights: lunch and learns, open mic night. There are many more activities I would like to participate in, though!

Describe your typical day here at the CSC Benjamin Center?

I volunteer on Friday mornings, and I also lead orientation. Twice a month, I set up a table at the UCLA Cancer Comprehensive Care Center department to provide information about the various support groups offered here at the CSC. There's been a lot of interest in our Kid Support groups, so I provide information about that as well as answer any general questions about our programs.

What has been your favorite experience as a volunteer, so far? 

Leading orientation has been my favorite experience. When people first come in, you can sense their hesitation and fear and then they visibly relax when they learn there is somebody out there that can understand the scope of what they are going through. Even though we always say the orientation is not a support group, it almost functions as that - it feels so nice to know that they're going to have some camaraderie as they face the challenges that a cancer diagnosis brings. 

I love it when I see familiar faces coming back. When I see people who were in my orientation and they come to yoga or a lunch and learn - that always feels good. 

Do you have any advice for prospective volunteers interested in getting involved? 

Just jump in! It's a guaranteed gratifying experience. Time spent volunteering is such an important contribution to people who are going through so much stress and anxiety - even the smallest gestures that we make have an impact and you can sense the bit of relief that they get through talking and sharing with you. It feels good to help somebody else. 

Finally, if you're thinking about visiting the CSC at all, just remember that: 1) you're not alone, and 2) it's free! Let me state that one more time - all of the programming offered here at the CSC is free! It's a truly wonderful organization. 

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Thank you to Judy Silk for her continued involvement and support. Next up: staff spotlight! Who will it be? Comment below with names and/or suggestions!

When Your Husband Has Cancer You May Have to Lie

This post was originally posted in the July 22, 2013 of the The Huffington Post.  By Judy Silk.  Judy Silk is a stand up comic, freelance writer and blogger at judemablogma.blogspot.com. A California native, she requires little water.

Cancer is everywhere. It's probably just a function of my age (56), but I seem to know way too many people, close ones, who are affected.

My husband for one. He is my second husband, and the love of my life. We both needed to be divorced to find our way to each other, and consider it to have been beshert (the Yiddish word for "meant to be"). We got married with our children on a family cruise to Alaska. One year later, he was diagnosed with colon cancer. I've had to deal with that. I've had to be devastated, crushed, strong, hopeful and cheerful. My rabbi said to me early on, "Don't go to the funeral today," and I've taken that to heart. We live each day fully, lovingly and gratefully. But his diagnosis is terminal. Short of a miracle, that is our plight.

I was motivated to write this because I have known an overwhelming outpouring of support, concern and offers of help and love. I feel like I want to put a precision to these offers, and to the reality of what living with a terminal loved one entails. We sometimes want to dance around the fine points, but I'm hoping it would serve everyone well if I could articulate some details. After all, I want help and I know you want to give it. Here are some things you might want to consider if you know someone with cancer.

1. Accept that I am going to have to lie to you. When you ask, "How's he doing?" accept that it's in your and my best interest for me to be non-specific. So I have to say, "He's doing okay," and leave it at that. We can then be appreciative that you asked, and you can be thankful to not know more. They say the devil is in the details.

2. Don't tell us to give up sugar. I know you mean well with your solutions and alternative treatments. You want to share and provide an opportunity to do what no medical science can do, but you're also telling a dying man that he should spend his last remaining days, months or years torturing himself for NO REASON. At this point, we look at every day like a Last Supper. And I encourage him to do ANYTHING HE WANTS. We don't give up hope. Never. But I want him to have all pleasure, all indulgence. I want him to have the greatest joy he's ever had. Can you see why when you say, "Give up sugar and dairy and you'll be cured," it comes across like "If you don't deprive yourself, you are therefore responsible for killing yourself?" It's a really ugly notion and not valid in his case. His cancer is wide-spread. I shouldn't have to explain this to you.

3. When you ask what you can do for us, be ready for it to be something other than a casserole. Because what really helps are small things. Going to Trader Joe's? Give me a call. Nine times out of 10, I won't need it, but this might be the 10th time that I do. If you have kids my daughter's age, and you're going to a movie, maybe you could invite her? I don't mean for you to invent activities, and certainly not every week. I wouldn't want my daughter to think I'm getting rid of her, but it makes me feel less like I'm imposing if the invitation comes from you rather than me asking.

4. Call and invite me to kvetch. I may not, but I need some irrational venting. For me to complain about the cancer is futile. But that doesn't mean that I don't harbor anger and frustration in my bloodstream. So maybe help me by allowing me to unload it on some unsuspecting target, like say, a neighbor who has perpetrated a slight insult upon me. If I can heap my scorn on that deflective victim, it helps unravel the hurt.

5. At a certain point, families like ours do need a little extra cooking help. Not an onslaught (we don't have a big enough freezer), and not a schedule -- we're not to that point -- but occasionally. So you might ask if I have a recipe you could make, or if you're making some killer wild-rice salad, offer to bring us a quart? That kind of thing. But ask first. When I just get random quarts of foods, it eerily reminds me of being at the end point, and I don't want that.

6. Give me a coupon for a favor. Since I'm working, raising a teenager, still parenting a college kid and caring for an elderly widowed Mom who lives an hour away, I miss a lot. Things that occur to me that are helpful would be: offering to drive down to a pharmacy across town to pick up our increasing cornucopia of meds; offering to drive my teenager to an appointment or activity; having your kid offer to walk the dogs for us. Maybe if you're going out to dinner, see if you can pick something up for us. Even if we get it after we've had dinner, we may like to have it the next day. That kind of thing.

The amazing thing about this whole cancer experience has been the extreme outpouring of support from our friends and relatives. Everyone says, "If there's anything I can do, please let me know." But it's hard to be in the position of repeatedly asking for help. As primary caretaker, I don't want to look or be pathetically needy. I know that in my heart it makes people feel good to help out. It would for me. This list is just a guideline that might make it easier for us both to band together to support the one who ultimately needs it, the one who is no longer in the position to be too proud to ask for help. It allows me to acknowledge that I have more on my plate than I can handle sometimes, and I hope it's a good road map for us to work together to support the whole.

Thanks mostly for listening. Oh, and I have a really good recipe for paella. (Too much?)


To view original document go to: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/judy-silk/tips-for-helping-families-affected-by-cancer_b_3629082.html?utm_hp_ref=email_share

THE PHUKET LIST OR TEN THINGS I'M JUST AS HAPPY TO NEVER DO BEFORE I DIE

This post was originally posted in the October 7, 2011 The Huffington Post.  By Judy Silk.  Judy Silk is a stand up comic, freelance writer and blogger at judemablogma.blogspot.com. A California native, she requires little water.

We are all influenced by pop culture. Who didn't want to go out and adopt a homeless football player after seeing The Blind Side? And how many of you got your yellow labs after seeing Marley and Me?

It was no different with the wonderful film, The Bucket List, starring those icons of inspiration, Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. They portray two old guys facing terminal illnesses who goad each other into accomplishing some long held fantasies as they stare down that long tunnel with the white light at the end. It inspired lots of people to do the same, but to not wait till staring down the barrel of termination. There are now scores of books you can read in case you can't figure out how to make your own Bucket List; 1001 places to visit before you die, books to read, foods to eat, movies to see, horror movies to see, etc.

Mass trends inspire me sometimes. But just as easily, I can get contrarily inspired by what I see as the mindlessness of trend following. I was therefore inspired during one of my frequent visits to insomnialand to create my own list. Introducing The Phuket List. 10 incredible things I'll be just as happy to never do before I die.

1. Go to Phuket (Thailand)
Once a typhoon destination, always a risk of being a typhoon destination again. I get that it's exotic, and gorgeous, and the culture is amazing. But whoever said that lightning doesn't strike twice was being naively optimistic. So, I'll have to get my beach on in Hawaii. I know a typhoon could hit there too, but somehow it feels safer.

2. Trek to Nepal
I get altitude sickness. Enough said.

3. Ski Down the Matterhorn
I don't like going down hill fast. I don't like knowing that five-year-olds can snow plough, but I can't. If stopping weren't an issue, I imagine the whooshing and the gliding part would be enjoyable. But stopping is an issue, so the whooshing and the gliding part are more than a little terrifying. Besides that, there's the schlepping of the skis and the poles, and the loading on of layers, and the sweating, and the shedding of those layers, and the nose running, and the crowds. And, does anyone look graceful walking in ski boots? I find the Matterhorn at Disneyland thrilling enough. That snow isn't even cold.

4. Backpack Across Asia
Well for one thing, Asia is a large continent. For another, I'm not a big fan of camping altogether. Truth be told, I'm not so fond of sunshine or being all out in nature. So, carrying your food, your housing, your bathroom, your water, and your creature comforts has a cumulative negative effect on my mood. I think there's a reason we evolved into houses with walls. Separating from the elements is civilizational progress. I would hike between huts if they came with beds, flush toilets and food, but where's that going to happen?

5. Travel Anywhere Without Flush Toilets
I thought about giving an example of why this is so, but it grosses me out so much, I just couldn't.
 
6. Walk Up The Eiffel Tower 
 What happened, did the elevators break down? 

7. Skydive or Bungee Jump
As much as I like speed, and the wind rushing through my hair and all that, here's what I know: The instant both feet left the platform, I would have a heart attack, and feel myself dying in the slow, long 5 seconds of the plunge. I would however watch others jumping.

8. Have a Drink with the President
As much as I love this President, there's just no way it would turn out well. I would always know that I was nervous, and he was just being polite, and it would be awkward, and I would probably have huge regrets afterwards for all the things I could have said or asked but didn't.

9. Swim with Sharks
I've probably already done this. I think that by doing it without knowing it is all I can hope for. If I'd been aware of it at the time, I'm sure they would have smelled my fear and consumed me immediately. And even though I've read The Worst Case Scenario Handbook, I'm still confused as to whether you are supposed to defend yourself by hitting them in the snout or the eye. So, better I should focus on a dolphin or sea turtle instead.

10. Finish This List
I think you get the idea.

In closing, I wouldn't want you to think I'm against goal setting, or planning challenging adventures. It's just that I know what my parameters of comfort are, and will feel just as accomplished if I honor those while I live my life before I die.


To view original document go to: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/judy-silk/the-phucket-list-or-ten-t_b_1000491.html?

LOVE DOESN'T GET CANCER

This post was originally posted in the December 27, 2012 The Huffington Post.  By Judy Silk.  Judy Silk is a stand up comic, freelance writer and blogger at judemablogma.blogspot.com. A California native, she requires little water.

I'm letting the bad cat out of the bag. My husband has terminal cancer. I don't say that word much, terminal. It sounds defeatist. When the oncologist says there is no cure, or the radiologist says we're just administering palliative care, I try and ignore the offending phrase. But the real truth is there is no cure. The definition of palliative is to treat the symptoms and pain without dealing with the underlying cause. Cancer is a nasty, nasty beast.

But we are living with it. And I mean living with it and ignoring it to some degree. Dan's had chemo for the last year and a half and is now receiving radiation as well. During the chemo years, he would have treatments once every two weeks, and then a break. The chemo week was sometimes pretty bad, but the off week was usually pretty good.

That is where we live: in the good weeks. I was a mess when I first heard his diagnosis: Stage IV recurrence of colon cancer. But a dear friend came and gathered me up, mopped up my tears and took me to see our rabbi. He hugged me until my sobbing subsided, then let me spill out all my fears and sadness. He voiced some pearls of wisdom, some sympathy, and then this. "We're all going to die," he said. "It's never easy. It's never easy when you're staring it down. But, don't go to the funeral today," he said. "Today, you have your husband with you. Today you love each other. Today you can be together. Don't go to the funeral today."

That phrase broke through the heavy curtain of my grief. Don't go to the funeral today. It even let a little sunshine in. He was right. Unlike a sudden death, we have more time to live together. We have each day.

So, I put on the cloak of happy caretaker. I pulled out my Obama campaign shirt from 2008 -- "GOT HOPE?" -- and it became my chemo ward uniform. It also became my mantra. For every day I have hope, I have oxygen. For every day we wake up together, I have joy. For every day we are a couple, I'm singing. I have this man for my husband. I'm beyond words thankful.

All this is not to say we never acknowledge the bum rap. Or that we never realize, separately or together, that we won't live out the sunset years together It doesn't mean that we don't talk to each other about it. But we don't have time to wallow in our plight. We don't need to. Cancer is random. It does no good to be angry. Being angry just takes away another minute, another particle of energy I get to spend with the man I love. People who know our situation wonder at our ability to stay cheerful. It's simple. We're here today. We get to be together, we get to be with the ones we love today, we get to hear music, hike the mountains, and feel the sun or the rain on our faces. Love is simple. Hope is oxygen for the soul.


To view original document go to:http://www.huffingtonpost.com/judy-silk/husband-cancer_b_2365309.html

THE NEW NORMAL: LIFE LIVED WITH CANCER

 

This post was originally posted in the June 5, 2013 The Huffington Post.  By Judy Silk.  Judy Silk is a stand up comic, freelance writer and blogger at judemablogma.blogspot.com. A California native, she requires little water.

I hardly know where to begin. I usually like to be funny in my writing. Or try. But this isn't really funny. Humor plays a part, but it's not the primary emotion or characteristic. I'd say the main elements are cope and hope.

I don't know what I was thinking when I scheduled my husband's colonoscopy for the night before our first anniversary. Instead of a nice romantic dinner overlooking the ocean, we were home, with him drinking a rather wretched cocktail of, well, let's face it, laxatives, while I snuck a tuna sandwich in another room. We toasted to a better celebration for our second anniversary.

The diagnosis was positive. Odd that in this case positive meant something negative; Dan had Stage III colon cancer. It seemed a good anniversary only in that we thought we had caught it in time. He had surgery and six months of chemotherapy. The chemo took a toll, but at the end of it we thought we'd won the war. Turns out it was just the first battle.

For the next year and a half we lived like we had a new lease on life. This is a second marriage for both of us, so we already feel like we hit the jackpot. Conscious of how lucky we are to have a extra chance at romance, we never take each other for granted. We planned vacations, enjoyed barbeques with family, made some home repairs. The usual.

Flash-forward a year to the night before my birthday; Dan had an episode of fainting and a seriously disgruntled stomach, which he hoped was just the Korean BBQ he'd had for lunch. We went in to the ER. They performed an endoscopy that revealed an ulcer in his stomach. I'd have been happy with an ulcer. But the ulcer was most likely caused by a mass, and the mass was most likely a tumor.

I turned 55 at Kaiser, with tears instead of cake. I kept hoping for less news than we got. I wanted it to be a new, different cancer. It wasn't. It was a metastasis of his original colon cancer. I hoped it had just spread to his stomach. It hadn't. It was in the stomach, the abdominal wall, some lymph nodes and his spleen. I hoped the tumors could be removed. Surgery was ruled out. Back to chemo. Finally, I hoped it would be another six month round, maybe a year, as this was Stage IV. The oncologist said what I hoped I'd never hear. There is no cure. He will be on chemo for the rest of his life.

Crying, hugging, fear, panic, sharing and comfort, his fear of dying and letting us down, my fear of living without him, going on alone. It's not the independence I was afraid of, it was the absence of my soul mate.

A good friend came over to sit and hold my hand. She made an appointment for me to see my Rabbi. The Rabbi said, "Don't think too far ahead. He's here now. Enjoy today." As hard as it was to keep my fearful thoughts from racing, I knew he was right. I had a lot to appreciate in my present tense.

Dan and I tried to get back to the day-to-day. He took six months disability to deal with the treatments, to focus on his wellness. One evening we went to a movie, a comedy. We wanted to get our laugh tracks restarted. Sitting in the semi-darkened theater waiting for the movie to begin, I tucked my right arm through his left and rested the right side of my face on his fleece. He kissed the top of my head. My feet were firmly planted on the sticky floor, but my body wasn't grounded. I kept feeling out of sorts. Besides the obvious, I just couldn't get a good breath, I couldn't relax my brain, I couldn't feel normal. Finally I said to my him, "I just want to feel normal again." Dan, my wise and capable man said, "This is the new normal." When he said that, I agreed. But inside, I rebelled. I couldn't imagine this being normal. I kept thinking I wanted things to go back to how they were. I wanted to feel that unaltered bliss, that faith in our planning a future together. But the reality was, death was looming larger than it otherwise might. Of course everyone faces death as inevitable, but not everyone is told at 53 that it is within sight. The truth was, for us, this was the new normal.

In the weeks that followed, Dan started back to chemo. We adjusted to our new schedule with him being home. Our two oldest daughters were enjoying their first year in college; my youngest was in middle school. I found myself drawn to the incredible Cancer Support Community where I could talk with other caregivers and Dan and I could join others in meditation, Tai Chi, writing, counseling and numerous other options. We told some friends, but didn't broadcast it wide.

I think we're unified in coping, hoping and living in the present. We have each other, we have wonderful family and friends, we have some trips planned, we have plans for the future. We laugh, we're quiet, we even still argue. I guess this is the new normal. And while it sucks to have cancer, we have each other, and that's never bad. In that we are always lucky.

To view original document go to: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/judy-silk/life-with-cancer_b_1082971.html